


Figments and Fragments

by janescott



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-12
Updated: 2010-06-12
Packaged: 2017-10-10 02:09:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/94043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janescott/pseuds/janescott
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: From the ai_kink meme prompt: Adam doesn't realize how beautiful he is until he sees himself through Kris's eyes. Feel free to get creative: like maybe Adam literally gets into Kris's head, in a sort of "Being John Malkovich" type situation. (Really, though, anything that enables Adam to experience how Kris sees him would be amazing.) This is more "inspired by" the prompt than "filling the prompt", but here goes. Um ... lucid dreaming, if you want to get fancy. Beta'd by equus07</p>
            </blockquote>





	Figments and Fragments

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Nothing in here belongs to me.

I'm floating in a swirl of blue and gray that's shading and shifting around me. Turning around, I see Kris frowning at the colours, and the shades shift – the blue darker; then lighter. Then the gray. He looks at me and says, "I still can't get the colour right."

"What colour?" I ask. It's not the first time I've dreamed about Kris, but for some reason, this is the first time he's spoken in my dreams.

He sighs, and runs his hand through his hair.

"I can never work out," he says, "Whether your eyes are blue or gray. Hence ..." he indicates the swirl around us, which shifts again, both colours lightening this time.

"You know, you don't usually talk in my dreams," I say, figuring that – since it is a dream – I can be honest.

But he doesn't look shocked, or surprised. Just smiles and says, "That's because I'm not in your dream. You're in mine."

Tiny brown dots start falling around us. I put out my hand and they land, forming patterns on my palm. "Your dream," I say, and it makes perfect sense, in that hazy, dreamlike way.

"My dream. I wanted to show you … I wanted to show you how I see you. And I can't show you properly out there." Kris waves his arm around, indicating the real world, I guess. "So – I'm doing it here."

I turn my hand over, fascinated as the dots flow over the back of my hand, settling into a familiar pattern. Oh. I look up again, and the freckles are everywhere, dancing lazily against the blue/gray that we're floating in.

"This is how you see me? As -"

Kris moves closer to me and touches my face, stroking a calloused thumb across my cheekbone. "I see you like this, yes. As – colours. And freckles. And -"

"What's that?" I ask. I can hear something. Like a pulse. It's faint to start with, but it's getting louder. I look down at Kris, and his eyes are impossibly dark as they look up at me, his top teeth catching his bottom lip in an unconscious bite.

"It's me," he says quietly. "I mean – it's you, but – it's what I hear when I see you. I've been hearing it for a long time. It's faint, because it's been buried for months. I needed to keep it hidden. Close your eyes. It'll come to you."

I close my eyes, and the noise is coming closer, and it's just a word; a sound really – an _Oh_ that – reaching out without opening my eyes I put my hand over Kris's chest. It's me – it is me – it's an _Oh_ put together with blue and gray; black and leather; it shines a little; there are millions of little brown spots, and a capacity for love that I didn't know I still had. It's me, and it's beating in time to his heart. I open my eyes and he's still looking up at me, one hand on my hip, absently rubbing with his thumb, and his other hand held out, palm up. He's catching the freckles that are still falling everywhere.

They slip and slide, spiralling around his arms before settling, and forming pictures - and they're us. The show. The tour. The bus. Hotel rooms. Backstage. Interviews. Just - us. I watch for what seems like forever, fascinated.

I drop my hand to my side, and he moves his hand from my hip to my chest, where my heartbeat suddenly speeds up, and it starts reverberating around us. The _Oh_ is still there, but winding through it, and around it, like a melody is Kris's name, which is coming from me. My heart. His name. I thought - "I thought I had put that away," I say.

Because it's a dream. And I can be honest here. He shakes his head, both of his hands on my chest now. "I can hear it. I hear it every day. I look around sometimes, thinking that you're calling my name. And I wanted you to know that I see you the same way that you see me. That … I love you the same way. I'm not … ready yet to tell you for real. But I needed you to know. So. For now, what we have is all in dreams. But …" he reaches out, and catches a freckle. It lands on the tip of his finger, and concentrating, he presses it to my bottom lip. "Sorry," he says. "That's my favourite one."

He reaches up and presses a quick kiss there, as though he's sealing it in place, and for a moment the sound around us – the _Oh_ and the _Kris_ \- are so loud that I can feel them in my bones. The harmony and the melody wind around me in shades of blue and gray; brown and gold.

"But ..." I prompt him, and the sound fades. If I reach out, I can touch it again, and that comforts me. Even in this strange dream.

"Oh. But soon I'm going to tell you for real. I promise."

I pull him in and I kiss him as hard as I can. If all I get are dreams for now, I'm taking as much as I can.

When I wake up, there's a note beside me on the bunk pillow. I open it, and there's one word, in Kris's handwriting: _Soon_.

It's early, and it's just starting to get light outside as the bus speeds along. Tucking the paper under my pillow, I drift off back to sleep.


End file.
